


Still

by notjustmom



Series: Epiphany [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Lots of Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sick Fic, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 13,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6867124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>still: noun: stil: deep silence and calm; stillness.<br/>adverb: up to and including the present or the time mentioned; even now (or then) as formerly.</p><p>Old English stille (adjective and adverb), stillan (verb), from a base meaning ‘be fixed, stand.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Still

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a multi-chapter epilogue following 'Epiphany', will include some bits of Mollstrade, and as most of you who follow me know, I usually write as the inspiration hits, so anything could happen; keeping in mind I don't kill off the boys and I don't write in Mary-verse.

Still. He was too damn still, quiet, silent. 

John had gone home, showered, binned the clothes that were still damp from Sherlock's blood. He had a bag that he always kept packed, just in case. He grabbed his laptop, both chargers, the stack of journals he hadn't read for the last five months, their favourite book of poetry and one of Sherlock's forensic texts just in case. Lestrade waited patiently, tried not to be in the way as John flew around the flat, checking for any experiments that should be binned in case they started growing, changing the sheets for when Sherlock came home, washing the dishes from this morning, so he didn't have to do it when Sherlock came home...

"He'll be -"

John nodded, not wanting to hear that word, 'fine.' He needed his Sherlock back, all in one piece, the same as he had been before the arsehole swung wildly and John was ten seconds too late, as he watched Sherlock crumple to the pavement clutching his side. John shot the arsehole, just in the knee to take him down and ignored him as he screamed until the sirens overtook the sound.

He had tried to stop the bleeding, tried to keep him talking, but he wasn't sure if he had done enough, been good enough, fast enough.

"You did all you-"

Lestrade closed his mouth, knowing it was enough that he was there. He was shite at comforting people, even Donovan in her own way was better at it. So he stopped talking and started listening. John was quiet until they got to St. Bart's and began their vigil, bad coffee and crisps, bad coffee and limp sandwiches, then just bad coffee. Cup after cup of bloody awful coffee.

"No one knows me as he does. He knew, up there on the roof, that if he had told me what he was going to do, I never would have let him do it. He knew I'd make him take me with him, somehow, and then maybe we would both be dead, or just one of us, and if one of us were dead the other would be as good as -"

"Dr. Watson? You're listed as his husband, yes?"

Lestrade snorted and shook his head, and John gave him a look.

"Yes. How -?"

"You did an admirable job stopping the bleeding, but he lost a lot of blood, we had to give him transfusions, had to remove his spleen, luckily no other organs were damaged."

"So..."

"So, he will be fine, it may take him some time to wake up, he has been through a lot. Just know that what you did saved his life, you did enough, just wanted you to know that. I'll let you know when you can see him; I can tell you're prepared to wait."

John nodded and shook her hand, and sat down with a thud.

"I never told you how he 'came back from the dead' did I?"

Lestrade shook his head, he'd always wondered, but there had never been a time when he felt he could bring it up, even over pints on those nights when they met at the local, when Sherlock was busy on a case, out of town, or reorganising his Mind Palace.

"Sarah heard about what had happened, naturally, and offered me as many hours as I could handle. I'd sleep and eat at Baker Street, but basically lived at the clinic. First, he had showed up at Baker Street, looking for me there, scaring the beejeezus out of Mrs. Hudson, then called our office as an 'after hour' patient. Sarah didn't even recognise him, he had always been so put together, and when he came back...the only way I knew it was him was his voice, as weak as it was, no one else sounds like him. It took months for his ribs to heal, his fingers were almost too damaged to play the violin anymore, but you know how he is..."

"Yeah, he's a right stubborn arse, always has been."

"It's what got him through it. I still don't know everything he went through, I only know bits and pieces from the nightmares. He can't talk about it when he's fully awake, he tries to pretend it never happened, and as hard as it is, I try to let him.

"Dr. Watson, you can see him now."

John offered Lestrade his hand, "Thank you, Greg, I'll let you know when he can see visitors, he's always considered you one of the best people that he's ever known. And you know how highly he regards most of the human race." He threw out his cup of sludge and followed the doctor down the hall.

John stopped before he opened the door, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the first word that came to mind was still.

He was too damn still, quiet, silent. Maybe it was the colour of the room, or the temperature, hospital rooms always felt too cold to him, but stillness was not Sherlock's natural state, Sherlock always ran hot, he wasn't even still at rest.

He made himself enter the room, he personally hated recovery rooms having been in enough of them to last him a lifetime. The colours were even grayer than he thought, the white of the sheet and Sherlock's gown almost glowed in comparison. Sherlock's usual pale complexion seemed even paler if that was possible. He pulled up the single chair in the room, orange. It was actually orange. He had to stop himself from laughing because he was afraid if he started he wouldn't stop.

He took Sherlock's hand in his and began talking. "I'm sitting in a fucking orange chair, next to you, and don't bother trying to tell me to go home, because you know that won't happen until they let you out of here. Lestrade finally knows about our 'status'. At least I didn't have to call Mycroft to make them let me be with you, but you should've seen Greg's face when they asked if I was your husband, and I said, 'yes,' though I think he was done being surprised today. Jeez, when Molly keeps a secret, she doesn't mess around, does she? But then, she's good at that, isn't she? Shit, that was unfair, uncalled for, truly, I'm sorry. Just surprised she didn't tell Greg about us. I mean, they've been together almost as long as we have now, right? Right. Well, I'm gonna put all this quiet time to good use, read some journals, write up a case or two, drink some more crap coffee, and stay right here until you wake up, yeah?"

 

"Moll? Molly?"

"How is he? How is - oh, damn."

"Yeah, how long have you known about our dynamic duo?"

"Sweetie, I just assumed you knew, I mean, you spend more time with them than I do, and -"

"How long, I mean, it doesn't matter, but at least I would've been prepared when I saw John...fuck." He took off his shoes and she watched as his hands shook. "And they are married? When did that happen? Damn, I need a cigarette."

"I didn't mean to keep it from you, it was just, it's just them and I - I'm sorry, I sort've knew before they did, just saw them, I guess. They just did a civil thing when he was strong enough after he got back from, ya know, they did it so John could be with Sherlock and vice-versa if something, uhm, bad, happened, and because they wanted to -."

"Yeah, I just didn't know. I mean, I think I always knew, but they never acted like a couple on a crime scene or at the flat, they were always just, them. And, today, I finally saw, finally understood, and I didn't know, I mean, I couldn't help John, not in a way he really needed. I don't know if I could've said or done anything other than just be there, but at least I would've been prepared."

"I'm so sorry, Greg, I really thought you knew. I was just going to order some take-away, I don't really feel like cooking, if that's all right?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure I can even eat right now, can you just come lie down with me? I don't want to be alone right now."

"Of course, love."

 

How is he? - MH

Hey Molls, he's the same, he just needs to rest, you and Greg ok? - JW

Yeah, he's a bit upset he didn't know about you guys, but he's just worried about Sherlock and how you are holding up. He really didn't know until today. - MH

Figured as much, it's ok, I'll let you know when you can see him, yeah? - JW

Thank you, please let us know if we can do anything? - MH

Maybe bring me some decent coffee tomorrow morning? - JW

Will do ;) - MH

Thanks, Molls, for everything - JW

Anytime - MH


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes to, and John wants to help

John? John, why are you sitting in that hideously uncomfortable orange chair. Orange? Really? We were on a case, stupid, it was no more than a three, maybe a three and a half, kid had a bottle, he broke it, high as a fucking kite. He wasn't trying to hurt me, but he swung it, and John. Oh, John. I'm sorry, I didn't wait, I ran ahead, I'm such an arse.

"John?"

John stretched and pushed his shoulder back together and smiled softly at Sherlock. "Hey there, love." He reached for his hand and gently kissed it. "I know you have to be in pain right now, let me get someone for you? I'll be right back, I'm not going to let them do anything to you that will hurt you, right? I'm going to be right back, yeah?"

John, wait, please...damn it.

John came back in with another doctor, and nurses who fussed and prodded and fluffed until John noticed the absolute panic in his husband's eyes. He asked the horde to leave for a moment, then waited patiently until Sherlock found his voice and the words.

"Before I came to, I was stuck in Serbia, I couldn't get away, couldn't find you, and then I finally woke up. I can't go back there, I know they want to knock me out again, right? I know it's been three years since I've been back, I thought I had buried it, deleted it all, but it's, it's still there John, and I'm afraid to go to sleep, please..."

Shit. He thinks I've lost it now, he's going to give up on me, he's finally had enough.

"No, don't you dare, Sherlock Holmes. I don't know if you heard me when I married you, I am yours, heart and soul, and you will not give up on me, on us. I'm going to get them to give you something for the pain which I can tell is on the wrong side of god-awful, right now, isn't it? Uh-huh. We will do this together, do you hear me? Please, I'm here, and I love you, yeah?" He kissed his forehead and left the room and returned with just one doctor.

"I understand that you are working through some PTSD issues, yes? We will give you something for the pain, and your husband will be here by your side, while you rest, we won't do anything you are uncomfortable with, just let us know. I was in the military like your husband, so I saw things - so I understand a little, just try to trust us, okay?"

Sherlock searched John's eyes and found only love and strength in them. How am I so lucky?

The doctor left them alone for a moment, then returned with a new IV, and a pump. "I also know of your history, so we are going to keep you monitored, we are just wanting you to be comfortable, we don't want to sedate you, necessarily. You aren't alone, I know it feels that way sometimes."

She left them again, and John sat as close to him as possible. "I know you've been struggling since you've been back, you can talk to me, about anything, you know that, don't you?"

"I didn't want you to know, John, you see the evidence of what happened to me every day, and I know you've held me through nightmares, even though you never ask about them. I didn't want to burden you with the stories. I don't know if that makes sense? You carry so much already, and you don't want this, believe me."

John sat quietly and looked at Sherlock's fingers that were fidgeting with the sheet, then spoke quietly. "When you came back...to the clinic, and I realised it was you, the first thing I noticed was what they had done to your beautiful fingers." He picked up his right hand and held it carefully in his. "I thought you would never play for me again, selfish, a little? Yeah, I am. But you did it, you worked through the pain, hours of trying and failing, days when I saw you wanted to give up, but you didn't. The first piece you played all the way through without a mistake was the lullaby you always play for me when I have a nightmare. I want to be able to help you find some peace like what you give to me, simply by being with me. I have ideas about what they did to you, and there are nights when I trace your scars and wonder how you managed to live through it, let alone come home to me and trust me enough to hold you and allow me to make love to you. You are remarkable, even though I know you feel you are coming apart at the seams, you are still the man I love. When you are ready, if you ever are, I want to hear the stories, let me help you carry some of the weight, please?"

There was a timid knock on the door and Molly peeked in. "Your coffee, that actually tastes like coffee? Am I interrupting? I can come back later."

"No, come in please, Molly. Please apologise to Graham-"

"Greg-"

"Right, Greg, for scaring him yesterday."

"Uhm, love, it's been three days."

"Oh, John..."

"Molly's been smuggling in real coffee every morning and helping me almost solve the puzzle, since you weren't much help."

"Arse."

"Yes, but you love me anyway."

"If I must." Sherlock rolled his eyes and held on tight to John's hand. 

"Yeah, I think you're required to by law."

"Oh, really?"

"Greg would like to come by and visit soon, if it would be okay?"

"Of course, I'm already getting bored in here, if he has any cases he needs help with, let him know I'm-"

"How about tonight after work? He needs to rest a bit, and needs to try to eat a little jello or mushy peas..." Sherlock attempted a petulant, put upon look, but failed miserably.

"Will let him know, I'm glad to see you awake, you." Molly handed John his coffee and the paper and planted a kiss on Sherlock's head. "I'll see you soon, I've got some lovely samples waiting for you." 

Sherlock tried to smile at her, but found himself falling asleep again. 

"Ta, Molls-"

John sat and drank his coffee as he watched over Sherlock while he slept.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory on Lestrade and Sherlock.

When he opened his eyes again, John was glaring at the lime jello on the table. "Seriously, did they not consider how it would clash with this ridiculously awful chair?"

Sherlock watched John for a solid minute before letting him know he was awake. He had changed clothes a couple of times in the last three and a halfish days, shaved once, badly, disposable razor, his ratio of coffee to edible food was ridiculous and sleeping-

"No, not sleeping as such," John blinked at him.

"Come, lie next to me, on my good side."

"Sherlock-"

"John-"

"Tell me how you proposed to me. Come on, you need to rest."

"Greg will be here soon."

"So, if you fall asleep, I'll entertain him."

John knew when he was losing a fight and he was too knackered to care, so after a bit of careful scooting and maneuvering he settled next to Sherlock. It had felt like weeks, not days since he had been able to properly touch him, and he almost fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.

"Hmm, lessee, it was about six months after you got back, your ribs had healed, your hair had grown back out to its regular length, and you'd been playing for a couple of weeks and..."

"...you looked up from your paper and almost off-handedly asked me to marry you..."

"I can come back later, if it's a bad time."

"No, come in, just needed to get John to get some sleep, please come in, Greg. I wanted to apologise for making a mess of your crime scene and thank you for helping John."

"Don't be ridiculous. You two are the closest friends I have. I brought you a milkshake, I asked the nurse and she said it was fine-I know how hospital food is-they weren't really expecting you to eat that, what is that, lime jello? Does that actually count as food?"

"John was about to dump it based on aesthetic reasons alone. Vanilla, you remembered, thank you."

"Yeah, not likely to, am I? First time you crashed one of my crime scenes, you were 19, thin as a rail, dressed all in black, and you watched from behind the tape for two minutes before you slipped under and told me off. You rattled off three straight minutes of deductions, not only of the crime, the victim, the perp, but everyone present; who was sleeping with whom, who were wishing they were sleeping with whom ..."

Sherlock had the good manners to blush as he slowly sipped the milkshake, the best thing he'd tasted since that thing with peas. "...and yet, you still came after me, asked me my name and hassled me enough so you could buy me a milkshake. You gave me your card, and told me when I got 'my shit together' as you so eloquently put it, you would consider taking me on as a consultant."

"Almost twenty years now, and I find out about you and John because you almost get killed on one of my cases?"

"Greg, we didn't purposely hide it from you. It just never came up, and we know what some at the Met feel about gay couples. We didn't want it to become an issue for you, especially once we became an 'internet phenomenon' and rumours were flying anyway, we tried to keep our personal life private. Even then, I had to 'leave' mostly because the people closest to me were targeted. I couldn't come home until the threats were taken care of, two years, Lestrade...I had to leave John, who I love more than - fuck."

"I didn't come here to-"

"No, it's fine, you are right, you are the reason I'm still here, I never would've cleaned up without your help, never would've met John. I am sorry, Lestrade. I just honestly thought you knew, and we got married on the fly, well, kind of on the fly, John had been plotting it for weeks for us to get married on my birthday, figured I wouldn't forget our anniversary that way. He got the licence and rings, even got Mycroft to help with the suits, and managed to keep it a secret from me - it was rather ridiculous. He wanted you as a witness, but you had to testify all day in court, so he grabbed Molly from the lab, didn't even give her a chance to change or refresh her lipstick..."

"Finish your milkshake before it melts, will ya? I'll be back tomorrow if you are up to it. I get it, I do, look at me."

Sherlock grinned at him and nodded, then handed him the empty cup. "I'll try not to bleed all over your next crime scene."

"I'll hold you to it, I'm gonna take off so you two can rest, yeah?"

Sherlock held out his hand and Greg held it lightly. "I know. I would do the same for you or John or Molly, without a second thought. I'll turn out the light."

"I married you on your birthday so you would remember your birthday, you arse."

"Go back to sleep, I love you."

"Love you too."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and of course, a visit from 'Big Brother.' A bit knee deep in angst...we will hit fluffy eventually, oy!

"How is he?"

"Damnit, can't you just send flowers or a text? I'm gonna buy you a bell for Christmas so I can hear you coming."

"How.is.he?"

"As well as can be expected. He lost a lot of blood and being in hospital has triggered his PTSD from his time away, so it will take some time."

"Is there anything I can do?"

John stopped banging away on his laptop and glanced at Mycroft, and saw the honest concern in his face.

"I was away when it happened, otherwise you would have had a room with two beds. I do apologise for my lack of -"

"Why don't you sit with him a while, I know it would mean a lot to him if he knew you were here. I'm going to grab a shower and some more bad coffee, just ring the nurse if something happens."

Mycroft nodded, understanding the trust he was being given. He took over John's seat, and wondered how John had been able to sit in the abomination for over four days now. He suddenly understood the love that must exist between them to -

"Myc?"

"Thought I'd make sure you were still breathing, brother mine."

"Hmmm, no third world countries to conquer?" 

"Not this week, unfortunately."

Sherlock looked at his brother and after a moment reached out a hand. Mycroft blinked and hesitated for a split second before taking the offered hand in both of his strong, soft hands.

"Is there anything I can do for you or John?"

"Mmmm, maybe send in something nice for dinner tomorrow? See if Angelo can rustle up something? But, we are okay, considering, don't try to change out the chair, it's the one thing John feels he can rail at, remind me never to buy him anything in that particular shade of orange."

"It is rather atrocious."

"Actually, I'm thinking of seeing if we can bring it home with us when I get out of here."

"And when will that be?"

"I'm hoping in a couple of days, they are mostly worried about my immune system with the splenectomy, but other than that, it's just -"

"John said you were having issues from your time away?"

"Nothing I can't handle." Sherlock turned from his brother.

"Sherlock."

"I'm afraid to sleep, Myc, I thought I had deleted everything, but it's like it's not just in my head, it's in everything, does that make sense?"

"You suffered severe trauma, 'Lock, it's not surprising it would still affect you even now."

"I should be stronger than this, I don't want John to worry so much, he wants me to tell him, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell anyone. Even him, especially him. He knows my scars and my nightmares, he doesn't need to take it all on himself. I fucked up, I should have been able to stop Moriarty before it went as far as it did -"

"Look at me, Sherlock. If anyone 'fucked up', it was me, I shouldn't have let you do it, I let you talk me into believing it was the most effective way of ending it. I took two years of your life and you ended up tortured and almost dead, that is on my head, not yours. Please forgive me."

Sherlock groaned as he sat up, but he needed to see his brother's face clearly. "You mean it," he whispered. "Myc, I got reckless, I just wanted to be home and I screwed up; I stopped caring because I thought John would be gone before I got home, I didn't believe he would take me back because I let him think I was dead for so long, and I would've deserved it. I should've known to trust him, simply because he loved me. I didn't know how much he loved me until I got home. He took me back without pity or disgust, never yelled at me or struck me, just took me home. He just took me home and cleaned me up, Mycroft. No one has ever loved me like that, and I almost lost him, because of my arrogance and stupidity. Damn, that hurts."

Mycroft helped him lie back down and wiped his brother's face with his handkerchief. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

"Just sit with me til John gets back, can you do that for me?"

"Of course."

They rested together, hand in hand for the next five minutes until John returned. He watched as they slept peacefully in each other's company for a moment, then quietly backed out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> e.e. cummings reads  
> somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoWS1oWiMok

Mycroft woke up with a jolt and tried to recall where he was. Ah yes, the odious orange chair. Sherlock was still sleeping, and Mycroft thought back to the last time he had seen his brother so at peace. It was when he married John almost three years ago, when the brief ceremony was over and after they signed the registry, he saw his brother smile, take his husband's hand in his and bring it to his lips. The light in his eyes could have lit up half of London. Even after everything he had been through over the last few years, he had found a way to love and be loved in return. 

He adjusted his tie, smoothed his suit, stood up quietly and walked out of Sherlock's room. John was sitting outside the door, reading a book of poetry. Mycroft had spent years attempting to solve the mystery of this man who had completely turned his brother inside out and sideways, somehow a brilliant drug addicted puzzle solver had met his match in this seemingly innocuous soft spoken soldier/doctor. 

"Cummings?"

"Uh-hmmm. Sherlock gave it to me on our first anniversary, haven't had time to read it for a long time. His use of form and word play is remarkable; I had forgotten I had told him he was my favourite poet from school, I had to do a research project on him."

"He forgets very little about you, Dr. Watson."

"Jeez, Mr. Holmes, can you cut the formal crap, we are technically related now. Hullo, I'm John, you must be Sherlock's brother."

In spite of himself, Mycroft grinned and put out his hand, "Pleasure, John, I'm Mycroft, the annoying much older brother."

John smiled and took his hand. "He will be fine. Just needs some time to heal."

"I know, thank you for not giving up on him. Thank you for loving him as well as you do."

"It is honestly a privilege and an honour, Mycroft, he is the most remarkable person I've ever known...hmm. I need to go check on him, yeah. Thank you for coming to see him, he does care for you very much, despite appearances."

"As a rule, Holmeses are somewhat allergic to sentiment, I am pleased he has allowed himself to make an exception in your case, Dr- John. I must be off now, but thank you for allowing me some time with him. Please contact me if I can do anything to make his stay here more bearable."

"Will do, good night."

John watched as Mycroft disappeared down the corridor and out of sight. He closed the book and went into Sherlock's room. He sighed and realised they were finally alone again.

"Mycroft back to creating chaos in the former Soviet States?"

"Mmmm, probably."

"Come up here, please? I sleep better when you are near me, always have."

"I know, love, me too."

"Read me a bit, yeah?"

"somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond  
any experience, your eyes have their silence:  
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,  
or which i cannot touch because they are too near..."

John found Sherlock's hand and breathed easier as his fingers were squeezed back in return. "I wish you knew how much I love and appreciate you."

"I do, John, I hope you never doubt I feel the same."

"Go to sleep."

"You first."

"Together?"

"Together. From now on in all things."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry, a triple dose of angst...mentions of the 'time away'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> e.e. cummings reading of  
> I carry your heart(I carry it in my heart)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4Qb9XmHXX4&index=1&list=RDQ4Qb9XmHXX4

They managed a couple hours of sleep until a shift change and a chipper, bright-eyed nurse, opened the door and whispered, "Uhm, excuse me, Mr. Holmes, it's time to check your vitals. Sorry."

John groaned and rolled awkwardly off the bed. He limped to the loo and looked at himself in the mirror. He wasn't sure, but he thought he looked worse than Sherlock at this point. He hadn't been home for days, not that they slept much, between nightmares and cases, but at least they had a comfortable bed when they did sleep. Coffee. He needed coffee. No, he needed to go back to sleep.

He walked back into Sherlock's room and regarded the man who was reading the ridiculously obscure forensic textbook John had brought as an afterthought. He was still a bit grey, and had lost a bit of weight over the last few days, his hair was getting a little out of control, he kept pushing a stray curl from his eyes, and he was actually growing a bit of facial hair, he hadn't shaved in almost a week, but he rarely needed to. There were moments, like this, when he could barely breathe. Moments when he could sharply recall the years when Sherlock was dead. He hadn't been of course, but John didn't know that then. For two years he hadn't been able to see him, touch him, breathe in the same shared air; he had believed the love of his life had died. He blinked and took a deep breath.

"You should go home and sleep, love." Sherlock murmured without glancing up from the book.

"Don't."

"Hmm?"

"Please don't, don't ever suggest that I leave you here again."

Sherlock turned at the tone in his voice, and started when he saw John's face. "Damn. John. I forget sometimes, you have memories of when I -"

"When you were dead. You were dead for me, two years of believing I had lost you, and I just almost lost you again. I know I will never be able to understand what you suffered when you were away, but you will never know what it felt like then, and I hope you never know what that is like. I hope that somehow we die together and that you will never know what it feels like to know that the person you love most in the world is gone."

Sherlock wanted to be able to think of something to say or do to stop what was coming, but he knew John needed to get this out; he was running on fumes, barely able to stand, but the sadness and fury and pain that had been buried for the last five years was finally rolling out, so he closed the book, kept his eyes focused on John's face and waited.

"The first two weeks I kept making two cups of tea, on the days when I made it out of bed. The worst day was when Mrs, Hudson washed the sheets; I came home from making your goddamned funeral arrangements and all I wanted was to go back to bed, it still smelled like you, like us. She was running on routine, as she always does, and she had stripped the bed, and collected all of your dirty clothes that weren't dry clean only, thrown them in the washer, dried them, remade the bed and was folding your pajamas when I got home. She realised what she was doing when she saw my face, and we both cried for the first time. She was folding clothes you were never going to wear again. After I walked her back down to her flat and walked back upstairs, I went into our room, your room, and shut the door and saw your dressing gown hanging on the back of the door - oh. God. I'm so sorry. Sherlock. I - I never wanted -"

"Now, do you understand why I will never tell you what happened when I was away?" Sherlock whispered. "I can't look you in the face and make you live those moments when all I wanted was to die because it hurt to breathe, not so much because of what they were doing to me, but because I thought I'd never see you again. It got to the point that I was talking to you to keep from losing my mind when they weren't letting me sleep for days on end. I was speaking to you in Serbian, which you don't even know, so then I'd switch to Pashto, then English which none of them knew. After ten days I was hallucinating that I was back at Baker Street having tea and biscuits with you. I can't, John. I will listen to what you need to tell me about when I was dead, but please know, I cannot tell you what you think you want to know, because you do not want to, I swear you do not."

Sherlock closed his eyes and waited for John to leave the room, and walk away. He was just so tired, they were both on the edge of collapse and he -

He felt John climb back into bed, and gingerly rest his head on Sherlock's chest. 

"i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  
by only me is your doing,my darling)"

and then he was sound asleep. Sherlock put the book on the table, turned off the light and held John in his arms until Molly arrived hours later with coffee, scones and the morning paper.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the next morning, Sherlock and Molly chat while John sleeps.

Molly walked in quietly, placed the tray of coffees on the table, tossed her over-sized purse on the floor, a shopping bag on the table, took her shoes off and curled into the chair.

"Rough night." Not a question, an observation.

Sherlock nodded.

"He won't leave you here on your own."

Sherlock nodded again.

"He's afraid."

Molly rummaged in her bag for the puzzle, pulled out a pen and worked quietly for the next hour. 

"Does Greg know you helped me?"

Molly looked up from the paper and nodded. "After you came back, he got home late, much later than usual one night. He stood at the doorway to our bedroom and said, 'I helped bury a body that looked like my friend. The friend that is no longer dead. After two years. You told me he was dead, you signed the death certificate. You've known for two years that he was still alive. You didn't trust me. He didn't trust me. I love you, Molly Hooper, but I need time.' He packed a bag, and left for a week."

"There was one night when he texted John...John went out, brought him back to Baker Street and he slept on the couch for a couple of days, was always gone when I got up, I was sleeping a lot back then. Not working on cases again yet."

"Yeah, I waited for him to get in touch with me, I didn't think he'd ever forgive me. But one morning I got to work and the morgue was full of flowers and he was asleep in my office chair. I let him sleep, and when I came back from lunch, he was just waking up. He walked over to me and said, 'I'm sorry, Moll,' hugged me and went back to work. When I got home that night he had made dinner, with candles, wine, my favourite sappy movie..."

"He didn't want to talk about it."

" 'Not his division'. Took us a long time to get back to normal, I think he realised he wouldn't have wanted me to break my word to you. And I think when he understood why you did it, it didn't make it easier, but logically he could cope with it and move on."

"I'm sorry, Molls - "

"Even if I knew he would have left me permanently, I still would have done it. You are my best friend, and I hope you know I always have your back."

"Still."

"I need a six letter word for 'exhausted' starting with a 'z' "

"Try 'zonked'," John yawned from the bed. "As in, 'Sherlock, love, you must be 'zonked' from not sleeping all night.' "

"I'm fine."

"Perfect, I got the rest of it, thank you, sweetie! Coffee is still warm, scones are from Mrs. Hudson, I stopped by the flat to get you more clothes, John, and she had just pulled them out of the oven. She told me that she would see you when you got back, she claims to be allergic to hospitals, Bart's in particular." She slipped her shoes back on and collected her purse.

John laughed. "Yeah, she hates hospitals, won't go near them."

"I have work to do. Sherlock, get a nap before John starts reading his medical journals aloud; dreadful, mind-numbing things...love you both." She gave them each a kiss and dashed out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boys in recovery mode. Some angst, mostly Sherlock sweetly taking care of John.

After Molly left, the doctor visited, checked his chart and removed the much hated catheter. "You are almost ready to leave us, Mr. Holmes. I want you to stay a couple more days, so you can get your sea legs back, yes? Good. I am pleased that the rumours about you were a bit exaggerated."

"What rumours would those be?" Sherlock laid back against the pillows and sighed.

"That you could be quite the recalcitrant patient."

"Hmmm, must be talking about someone else."

"That's what I said. I will check on you again in a day or two. John can help you start moving again for a few minutes at a time, like walking to the facilities?"

John nodded and thanked her, watched as the door closed, and rubbed his face.

"What?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming.

"About last night - "

Sherlock closed his eyes and whispered, "take your shirt off."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Let me go tell your nurse you are taking a nap, yeah? I'll lock the door when I get back."

John returned in under two minutes. He turned the latch and leaned back against the door."It was unfair -"

"Take off your shirt, and your trousers. I want to see you, please?"

John pulled his t-shirt over his head, then stepped out of the trousers that he'd worn for two days, or was it three, he couldn't rem-

"Come here, love."

John threw his clothes on the chair and pulled down the sheet that covered Sherlock, then climbed onto the bed and straddled him carefully. Sherlock reached up and traced John's lips with his finger and shook his head. "You will listen carefully to what I have to say, yes?"

John nodded.

"Good. You are the very best part of me. Your love has saved me over and over, you will never know how many times. You have every right to have the feelings you have about the time when we were apart, and you have the right to tell me, I want you to tell me, if you need me to know, I can hold that pain for you, and with you. I know you well enough to know that there have been times since I've been back when you have needed to tell me, but instead, you made tea, or washed the dishes angrily, or took an extra long shower. I have waited for you to leave me; at the very least yell and throw things at me. I am stronger than I look, and I need to know that you trust me enough to tell me when you are hurt, or angry, or just need me to listen. Even now; especially now. I know you are afraid of losing me, you remember what it was like before, and you are trying so hard to not let me see it. You are the strongest, wisest and best man I have ever known or will ever know, John Watson. And right now, I'm going to stop talking and kiss you until you forget where we are."

He kissed him through the grief that John had been holding onto for the last few days, months and years. He held him through the fears that had crippled him, the buried anger that had threatened to tear them apart, and gently caressed him until he could scarcely breathe. John sobbed as he came apart in Sherlock's arms, letting everything go at last.

"You need a shower."

"Look who's talking," John grumbled hoarsely. "The nurse said I could help you wash your hair, if you felt up to it?"

"Oh, God. Please?"

"Not quite. But, I'll have to do."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys realise they just need time to heal and Greg finally gets over himself...

John left the room to get the shower started and came back to find Sherlock staring up at the ceiling, tears streaming down his face.

"I can't, John. I'm just too tired, everything hurts. I can't even get out of bed." 

"Hey, no, it's okay, love," John laid a hand on Sherlock's face and smiled gently at him. "You are trying to do too much. Tell you what, I'm going to get a shower, because I really do need one, then I'm going to give you a sponge bath and then climb back in bed with you and we will have a good rest, okay?"

"I want to go home, John," Sherlock whispered. 

"I know, love, I know. We will get home soon, I promise. It's going to take time, you just need time to heal. Just close your eyes, and try to sleep, I'll be right back, yeah?" He pressed a kiss on Sherlock's forehead, and pulled the sheet back up. "Are you cold?"

Sherlock shook his head, and closed his eyes. "I love you."

"I know, love, I swear, I know."

John took Sherlock's hand in his and kissed it. "You have no idea, no idea, how much I love you."

He stepped into the shower and stood for a moment just feeling the hot water run over him. He sighed as he felt his muscles relax, and he washed his hair with Sherlock's shampoo that he had brought from home. The scent nearly knocked him over. It was funny, he hadn't realised how much he had missed Sherlock's unique scent, since they had been in hospital; that mixture of expensive hair products, Baker Street, tea and detergent, and a hint of London's busyness was missing from him. He needed Sherlock home as much as Sherlock did. He collapsed to his knees and quietly sobbed until the water ran cold. He turned the water off, dried off, and walked back into their room to put on clean clothes. Sherlock was fast asleep, John managed to wash him and dry him gently without waking him; John hoped the dreams would stay away for a few hours. He threw on a soft t-shirt and pajamas and quietly stretched out next to Sherlock, and watched him sleep for a few minutes before he, too, nodded off.

 

John woke a few hours later to see Lestrade sitting in the orange chair.

"Hey, Greg," he yawned.

"Hey yerself, how's he doing?"

"He's in a lot of pain, trying to not show it, but we tried to get him a shower and he couldn't get out of bed, so he's discouraged, as well as exhausted and just wants to be home." John sat up and looked at his friend; he didn't have to be Sherlock to know he was working on something. He and Greg had similar ways of dealing with emotional 'stuff,' they usually tried to bury it and get on with things, until it blew up in their faces. He sat and waited for Greg to begin, and didn't have to wait long.

"When Sherlock got back, from, ya know...how did you get past..." He got up and paced quietly, he had been sitting for some time as his shoes and jacket were off and he had an empty coffee cup in his hands. "...past the trust stuff?"

"Molly?"

"Yeah, she helped Sherlock, when he..."

"Yeah, he couldn't have done it without her. When he got back, he was more dead than not, he basically collapsed in my arms when he came into my office at work, I was so fucking happy to have him back I didn't feel all the other crap til later, and I couldn't tell him. But, being Sherlock, he knew. He has been walking on eggshells for the last three years, and it wasn't fair on either of us. Thing is, I love him in a way that overrides the everything else. It wasn't a question of forgiving him. I forgave him when he fell into my arms. We both went through versions of hell the other will never understand, and yet, we are still here. We don't breathe well without the other. Ridiculous, but true. When he got hurt and you realised about us, it brought everything up again, yeah?"

Lestrade nodded and sat back down. He crushed the cup in his hands. "She did what she had to do, I know that, and I know why she didn't tell me, but she had nightmares, and she wouldn't talk to me about it, the first few days after he jumped...and for two years she must have been in hell, not knowing if he was okay, I could've helped her..."

"Greg, Molly's a bad arse, you know that. After he got back and was well enough where I could go out and leave him on his own for a little while, I asked her to meet me at Regent's Park. She was feeding the damn ducks, and I sat next to her on the bench and waited for her to talk to me. I was exhausted and furious and, fuck, I was jealous, yeah, actually jealous that she was able to help him, when I couldn't. He had trusted her more than he trusted me, but then I saw her face, Greg. She turned to me, tears in her eyes, but none fell, and she looked me straight in the eyes. She was absolutely fierce, her jaw was set and she started speaking in that way, you know that 'I'm gonna talk and if you interrupt me, I will deck you' voice." Greg grinned and nodded, he knew the voice all too well.

"She said, 'I'm not going to apologise, John. He needed my help so he could come back to you. I've known him since we were five years old, so I knew he was planning something, something that was eating him up inside, he tried to hide it from me but failed. I knew from the way he looked at you, he was trying to say goodbye so you understood. He didn't know if he was going to make it back, and I had to ask him how I could help him, he didn't want me to have to lie to Greg, or to you, but it was the only way. I know you must hate me for keeping it from you...' "

"...she would do it again if it was the only way to keep him safe..." Lestrade whispered.

John nodded, and went on. "She was expecting me to scream or yell or just walk away, instead I asked if she wanted to visit with him. They hadn't seen each other since he'd been back, but he had asked to see her that morning, and then he told me what she had done and asked me to forgive her. I wasn't sure if I could until I saw her face. She didn't start crying until I told her he was asking for her. I forgave her as I held her, and we walked back to Baker Street together. He was resting in bed when I brought her in, and I whispered to him that she was there. He looked for her, then held his hand out and she climbed on the bed next to him, she didn't blink, didn't make a sound, when she saw how close it had been...she simply wrapped her arms around him carefully, and he rested his head on her chest, and they slept for half a day like that, first time he slept without a nightmare since he had been home."

John sighed, got out of the bed and paced the room. "Without her, he wouldn't be here now. He had barely left the bedroom since he had been home, but after that day, she came every morning, before going to work, and she would do the puzzle with me, and sit with him on the couch, he would rest in her lap, hands steepled... you know the pose, she played with his hair, and she helped him heal. He hadn't allowed me to touch him yet, except to treat his wounds, we even slept in separate beds, but after a few weeks, he made dinner one night. The thing with peas. I had made the night that...anyway, she made it possible for him to believe that I could still love him, as broken as he thought himself to be, because she accepted and loved him as he was, he was still the person she had always known and loved. You need to go and talk to her, Greg. I can't tell you what to do, but if you love her in the way that I think you do, you need to let her know how you feel and let it go. And marry the girl, already."

Greg grinned, put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box and tossed it to John.

John opened the box and smiled, the first real smile since before Sherlock had been injured. "Brilliant, Greg, it's beautiful. She's the best. Now go and get her to marry yer sorry arse."

"Gonna do my best, get him better, yeah? We all miss him, even Donovan, but don't tell him I said anything."

 

Greg walked out of the room whistling, and after the door closed, Sherlock whispered, "you are an amazing man, love. Thank you for loving her, and for helping him."

John got back into bed and kissed him. "She gave you back to me, love; she deserves to know how amazing and loved she is. He just needed a kick in the arse, he wanted my blessing in a way I guess. You need to use the facilities, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded shyly, and John got out of bed, lovingly lifted Sherlock into his arms, and carried him to the loo. He held him up so he could stand, then lifted him again when he had finished, and carried him back to bed.

 

"Moll?"

"In here, Greg. How are they this afternoon?" She called from her office, working on her computer. She hadn't looked up yet, she was biting her lip and squinting at her monitor. He kept trying to get her to buy reading glasses, but she hadn't given in yet. Her hair was in her usual 'end of the day' state, her auburn hair falling out of her pony tail, she blew a stray hair out of her face and her lipstick was definitely in need of refreshing. He shook his head and laughed.

"What?"

"Can you come in here?"

"Jus' a minute. Just need to finish one more repor-"

She had finally looked up, and knew. Oh, John, you gave him your blessing, oh God. He finally asked for it, and you gave it, you lovely, bloody brilliant man. Tomorrow, you get all the coffee you can handle, I'll even buy you those chocolate biscuits you love...

"Please, I need to ask you somethi- what is it?"

Molly was still sitting at her desk, but now tears ran down her face. She shook her head and dug around a drawer for a kleenex, then blew her nose.

"I can't imagine a more perfect place for you to ask me to marry you. It's just I never thought - "

"Molly, I'm so sorry, love. I'm sorry I took so long to get my head out of my arse, will you forgive me for being an utter git?"

She got up from her chair, pushed her hair from her eyes again, and walked into the morgue. She had taken off her shoes, so her lab coat seemed even larger on her somehow, her eyes were red from crying, but to him she had never been more beautiful. He knelt in front of her and pulled the box from his pocket, and took her small, strong hand in his.

"Molly Hooper, will you make me the happiest man on earth by marrying me? Please, please, say you will?"

She looked down at him, and smiled. "Of course, you idiot, of course I will marry you. I love you so much, Greg Lestrade." She kissed him softly, then helped him to stand and barely breathed as he took the necklace with the ring on it out of the box. His fingers were shaking too much to put it on her, so she did it herself. She kissed him again and smiled."Let me get my things, and then we are going to get some ridiculously crazy chocolate thing to take to our best men."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes the 'thing with peas' for John (for once he has a good dream)

"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock appeared at her door, with a list.

"Yes, dear, what is it?"

"I want to cook for John tonight, but I need some things, and, uhm -"

She looked at him, saw the slowly fading bruises and cuts that had almost healed and nodded. "Of course, love. He will be so surprised. It's time, isn't it?"

"Hmm?" He pretended to pick at a stray thread on his shirt.

"That you forgave yourself? He forgave you the minute you showed up at his clinic, you know that, don't you?"

He looked at her and silently asked permission to sit down. "Of course, dear, tea?" He nodded.

"But, how, Mrs. Hudson? How can he? I don't understand. I let him think I was dead for two years, he hasn't yelled or hit a wall, or even walked off in a huff since I've been home, he's taken weeks off from work just to be there if I need him, today was the first day when they were short staffed."

"He loves you, he loves you so much that he isn't feeling that part of it yet, he's just so relieved you are home, that he can't feel the other things. All he wants is to be able to hold you as you sleep, touch you, and have things back to how they used to be, but you haven't even really come home yet, have you? You still don't believe that you are truly safe yet."

"How-?"

"I see it in your eyes, you keep expecting this to be a dream, you think if you reach for him, he won't be real."

Sherlock blinked. "I kept hallucinating him, only him, when I was away. I'd be awake and I could see him, talk to him, but when I tried to touch him, he'd vanish. I'm so afraid, Mrs. Hudson, that I'm too fractured for him. I'm not the same, and I don't know if I'll ever be who I was before."

"He is still here, waiting for any sign from you that you love him and want him. He sees you with Molly, and he wants so badly to be able to be that shelter for you. No, I know, it's different, Molly is safe, you know she will always be there for you. But John, John could hurt you badly if he doesn't want you in the same way anymore, if he's afraid to touch you - right?"

Sherlock didn't have to answer, she got up from her chair and she touched him on the shoulder. "I'm happy to go to the shops for you, I know it's too soon for you to try to go out by yourself and you never did like large groups of people even before you left, too much raw data. You're going to make him that risotto, aren't you? Just be patient with him, try to trust that voice that is telling you to reach out for him." 

Sherlock stood and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "If you can't get the same wine, any good white will do, but it would be lovely if -"

"I know, love. Run upstairs and rest, just try to breathe. Don't overthink this, sweetie, he loves you, and he's always going to love you."

 

Hours later, after a ridiculous day, filled with silly patients, John stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and took a deep breath. Oh. But, we didn't have any rice or peas or wine, how...?

"He gave me a list, love. Be gentle, but not too gentle, wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Wait for him, hmmm?"

John gave Mrs. Hudson a small smile, and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you," he whispered, then walked up the seventeen stairs and found Sherlock in the kitchen, in his purple shirt, black trousers, stirring in the peas. 

"It will be ready soon, John. There's wine, I just uhm, need to let it simmer for a bit." Sherlock placed the top over the rice and turned the flame down. He cleared his throat and turned to face him.

"I've been an idiot, John. Ever since I've been home, I've been afraid to -"

John stopped his words with a gentle press of his lips against Sherlock's. " - tell you that I love you and want you and need you. Still."

"Couch?"

"Couch."

Sherlock led John to the couch, he took a deep breath and laid down, trying to show John how much he wanted to trust him. John smiled and said, "budge up a minute, love." Sherlock sat up gingerly, as his ribs were still mending, and John sat down, then invited Sherlock to rest in his lap. John played with the curls that were still growing out, and Sherlock took a breath and opened his eyes.

"You're really here. I'm really with you."

John nodded.

"Do you mind if we just sit for a few minutes, just like this?"

Sherlock looked at him in a new way, that meant more than friendship, more than love, it was a look that thanked him for waiting for him, for forgiving him, and most of all for giving him time to return as much as he was able to. Sherlock held onto his wrist...and woke up to see John smiling down at him.

"Hey love, a good dream this time?"

"Hmmm - the best." He smiled at him and kissed him as if he were amazed to find him there. He looked around the hospital room and sighed. "Still here."

"Yes, love, you are still here, and I, for one, am so happy that you are. Angelo just texted, he's on his way with enough food to feed the whole hospital. Are you hungry?"

"Starving."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bit of Molly and Sherlock backstory...how William became Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes as John urged 'one more bite, love' when he saw them enter his room. Greg's face had lost a certain wariness, replaced by what Sherlock would call slightly stunned contentment if he were programmed to think in those terms. Molly, who followed him in, caught Sherlock's eye, bit her lip and nodded.

John put the plate down on the table as Sherlock's face softened, the light in his eyes glittered, and his laugh lines crinkled suddenly. "Greg and I will go grab, uhm, something, yeah?" He kissed his forehead, and winked at Greg. "Back soon, love."

Molly squeezed Greg's hand as he and John left the room, and she slowly made her way slowly to Sherlock's side.

He patted the spot next to him, and she slid off her shoes and lab coat, climbed into the bed and snuggled carefully in his arms.

They sat quietly for a moment together, then Sherlock took her right hand in both of his calloused, slightly arthritic hands, and traced a faded long diagonal scar on the back of her right hand. "Do you remember - " he whispered.

"I was walking home from school and saw a gang of boys, you were already on the ground trying to protect your head with your arms when I pushed between them and covered you with my own body. You were trembling but not crying, it was as if you were used to being hurt, like you deserved to be mistreated."

"I was already the way I am now, at five, but with less tact...I knew one of the boys, he was Mycroft's age, he had been teasing me about something so I made some remark about his parentage, and he went after me. It wouldn't have been so bad if I had said it when he was alone, but I said it front of his 'posse' so he went wild. He had just pulled out his knife when you flung yourself over me, so it went into your hand instead of my back - the first time you saved me, Molly Hooper. You were a bad arse even back then."

"They were so freaked out by the blood that he dropped the knife and they all ran. I still carry that knife in my bag. You took me to your house which was closer, and Mycroft was at home. He looked at you and shook his head. 'Whose parentage did you insult this time, William? Oh, probably that arsehole David, and I had corrected his grammar in front of his girlfriend - sorry.' Then he noticed me and my bleeding hand, and he silently led me to the loo. You wouldn't let go of my other hand, and you made me look in your eyes as Mycroft said, 'I have to close this up, it's a deep gash. I've had loads of practice working on William, if you'd like me to -' " 

"You nodded, and Mycroft said, 'I'm going to clean it, then numb it as much as I can, but you'll still feel the needle a bit, I do apologise.' You took a deep breath, looked into my eyes and squeezed my hand so tight I thought my fingers would break, but you didn't make a sound, your eyes teared up, but you kept looking at me, and not a single tear fell."

"When Mycroft was finished, he put a bandage over it and looked me over. 'You are Molly Hooper, the youngest of that mob of seven offspring that live across the park. Just recently moved into town, you are the only girl - the toughest of the bunch -' "

" 'Have to be, don't I?' You narrowed your eyes at him, crossed your arms and tapped your foot at him. Took him by surprise, no one ever did that, I thought you were bloody brilliant. 'Quite, yes, well. I'm Mycroft and this is William.' " 

"You looked me over almost in the same way you examine corpses these days and shook your head. 'Nope. He's not a William.' "

" 'Is he not?' " Mycroft tried to stifle a grin. 

" 'What's yer other name?' You asked me quietly, not letting me look away."

" 'Sherlock.' I whispered. You nodded and smiled a bit."

" 'Much better, sounds like a magician. I like it, it's unusual. William is boring.' "

"And then you laughed. I had never heard anything so beautiful in my life."

 

"Let me see, Molls."

She sat up so she could unclasp the chain, and laid it into his hand.

"It's perfect, sweetie. I'm sorry - " Sherlock whispered and closed his eyes. "It's my fault it took so -"

"No, don't you dare. Sherlock Holmes. Nope. Look at me. I chose to help you, and I would do it again if you needed my help. But you won't, will you? No. Because you can't leave your heart again. You know that, don't you?"

Sherlock looked into her eyes and nodded.

"Good, because if you do, I will kill you myself."

Sherlock laughed, and kissed her forehead.

"Now, I'm going to turn off this light, and you are going to rest. Yes, I'll stay until John comes back..."

"Molly?"

"Hmm?"

"You are going to let me plan your wedding."

"Who else, sweetie?"

"Alright, then."

"Good night, Sherlock."

"Night, Molls."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slightly sweet ;)

"Molly?"

"Hmm? Oh, John?" Molly yawned and slid from the bed.

"Greg got called in, said he would see you at home, later tonight if possible."

Molly rolled her eyes and smiled. "Hazards of living with the Met." She curled up in the much maligned chair and took Sherlock's hand in hers. "I don't know if he honestly knew how much he loved you until he had to leave. Every once in a while he was able to send me a text in our code we used when we were kids, it was always brief, always asking after you - sometimes I wonder if I hadn't helped him, he would've found another way so he could've stayed, and things would be different for him and you now."

"Oh, sweetie, you know him better than anyone. You helped him because you knew he was going to do it with or without you, and you knew you were the best chance for him to get back safely."

She nodded. "He was, is, my family. I mean, I had "family," but my brothers were all much older and they didn't notice me except to - never mind. He was the first to know me, really understand who I was, and he made me believe I was enough as I am. I didn't have to change for him to love me."

"Without you, I don't think 'we' would have ever existed, Molly. You will always be his family, our family." He rested his hands on her shoulders. "He loved you first, and always will."

She pinched her nose, in order to stop the tears that were threatening for the second time that day. "I'm gonna go home and watch some crap telly, tell him I'll stop by and see him before work tomorrow. She started to gather her bag, but stopped suddenly, then turned and hugged him fiercely. "Aww...damn it. John, thank you, for always letting me be there for him, and for you. You don't know how happy I was when I saw his face light up the first time he laid eyes on you. And for today, you let me off the hook in such a generous way, you'll never know how it felt when I saw Greg's face and I knew."

"I meant every word, Molly. I can only imagine how hard it was for you to not be able to talk to Greg or me about it, and to worry about him, not knowing when or if he could make it back. You were the reason he did, sweetie."

"Before we came over, we tried to find the most ridiculous, chocolate thing we could find, all the bells and whistles and doodahs to thank you both. Enjoy!" She kissed him on the cheek and smiled, then flew out the door.

"Did she mention doodahs?" Sherlock murmured.

John nodded, as he opened the box. "Good golly, Ms. Molly, you weren't kidding!" In the white box, was the most beautifully outrageous, chocolate masterpiece; simply covered in every doodah known to man. 

They spent the next hour in a sheer state of bliss, alternating between bites of chocolate and sweet kisses until John slipped the last curlicue between Sherlock's lips.

"Mmmm."

"Mmmmm, indeed."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally the shower scene...

"Damn it!"

John opened his eyes to see Sherlock trying to push himself out of bed. Stubborn arse...he sighed, threw off the sheet and walked over to his husband who was trying and failing not to show his frustration at his immobility and absolute 'fed-up-ness' with the present state of affairs.

"No, no, no, nope. Let me help, you don't want to tear your stitches. Here, wrap your arm around me, lean against me, there you go - little steps, if you need to stop, tell me."

"I'm not a child." Sherlock growled, actually more an attempt of a growl as it sounded more like a whinging four year old wanting their tea.

"I know, you're worse. You're still you, but in pain and mind-numbingly bored. Is it better than yesterday?"

"A bit." He tried standing a little taller and instantly regretted it. "Hmmmm...do you think we could try the shower today? I'll let you do all the work, please? I can't stand my hair feeling this gross. Please...John?" He turned the puppy dog eyes on high, and John couldn't help but grin.

"Yeah, love, I think we can give it a try."

They both used the loo; John undressed, then helped Sherlock step out of his pajama bottoms. John looked up to find Sherlock's eyes dancing at him. Damn, how does he do that to me? He stood up and pulled him into a gentle embrace. Just being able to hold him like this took his breath away.

"I've missed you, too, John." Sherlock tightened his arms around his husband and kissed the top of his head as John sighed against his chest. They stood there for a moment, or two or ten -

"Shower. Right." John was the first to let go. He helped Sherlock into the shower and sat him carefully on the chair. "Just long enough to wash your hair, and I'll change your bandage after we're done."

"John."

"Let me get the water going, on the warmish side, not too hot, I remember how long it too-"

"John, please?"

John stopped and took a breath before he turned to face Sherlock.

"I will be fine."

"I know."

"I. will. be. fine."

"Let me get the water on, yeah?"

Sherlock closed his mouth and sat.

John turned the water on and Sherlock closed his eyes as he felt water hit his face for the first time in almost a week. John moved to stand behind him, then placed his fingers in his hair, and he felt his brain shudder to a halt.

"Are you okay? Not too hot?"

Sherlock shook his head and leaned back into John's hands as he added his shampoo from home. Home. He smelled it as John poured some into his hands, began to massage his scalp, then gently tugged on his hair as he tried to work through the tangled mess. 

"I'm...uhmmm....gonna rinse it now, I know it will frizz without the conditioner, but I was in a bit of a hurry when I packed -"

Sherlock remained silent, knowing that John needed time to get things out when he spoke of things that he didn't want to speak of. Speaking made things real. Of the moments when he wasn't sure that Sherlock was going to make it back home as he packed. 

" - I forgot the conditioner, and the styling gunk you use, and your razor, you don't use it that often, but....damn." The dam finally broke, but he turned off the water, got the towel that was folded on top of the toilet, towel dried Sherlock's hair gently, then helped him stand and step out onto the floor. "I was flying around the flat, trying not to think of how quiet it was. You weren't there, Sherlock. I had a moment when I remembered that other day when you didn't come home with me. But Lestrade was there, and he said, 'He'll be - ' and I knew you were alive, that you were just in hospital. But, I forgot the conditioner. I'm sorry." John stood in front of Sherlock and patted him dry, until he got to the bandage. He placed his hand over it and closed his eyes. Sherlock covered his hand with his own then wrapped his other arm around John. 

"Thank you, love," he whispered.

"What for?" John didn't look up.

"For making me feel human, as you always do. For staying by my side, for loving me in spite of all of my imperfections. For your forgiveness and your faith. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you, but thank you."

John took a deep breath and finally looked up into the iridescent, magical eyes of his husband and nodded. He kissed him softly, then removed the bandage carefully. They both looked down at the angry red streak, neatly sewn up. John reached for the antibiotic cream, dabbed it gently, then recovered the area.

"I'm here."

"I know."

"Not going anywhere."

"Except back to bed."

 

Molly turned up an hour later with coffee, chocolate biscuits and the puzzle as usual; but she carried herself in a way that was new, it wasn't something Sherlock could put his finger on; her hair was the same, her clothes were her normal work clothes, her ease with herself was essentially the same, and yet...it was her eyes. The eyes of someone who knows that they are completely and utterly adored and treasured by the people they love. Before she left, she kissed his forehead and smiled, "I'll run by the flat and get your hair products and your razor after work. She kissed his cheek, then rubbed the evidence away. "How was the cake?"

"Bloody brilliant!" grinned John. 

"Lovely," nodded Sherlock. 

"You two stay out of trouble, yeah?" She blew them both a kiss as she left for her shift.

"What kind of trouble could we possibly get into here?" Sherlock wondered as he went back to reading the paper.

"Hmmm...dunno." John filled in the last word and removed the upside down sports section from Sherlock's hands.

"More interesting that w-" John smirked as he stopped Sherlock's words. 

"I - "

"I know."

"I wish I weren't so bloody exhausted, can you tell me a story?"

"What story, love?"

"The day we met, please?"

"Of course. Close your eyes...yeah?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for cheekycheekbones

"It was a -"

"Tuesday...January 29...I was -"

"Are you going to tell the story or do you want me to?"

"Sorry." Sherlock snuggled against John, closed his mouth and eyes as John rested his hand on Sherlock's hip.

"- Tuesday. It was warm for January, so I decided to take a walk, it was either that or post something on my blog. I walked to the park near Bart's, but as soon as I got there, I knew it was a mistake. I started on my way home when a voice called out to me. I tried to ignore it, but it sounded familiar..."

"'John? John Watson'?" 

"It was my old lab partner, Mike Stamford. He had stayed to teach instead of joining up, he had the temperament for it. I did not and still don't."

" 'C'mon, let me buy you a coffee and I'll show you 'round, it's changed quite a bit - ' "

" 'You weren't kidding.' "

" 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You had barely glanced at me, and then you were busying yourself with something or other. Then Molly came in with coffee, took a look at me, and winked at you, I didn't even think about it at the time, didn't even cross my mind until just now. She always knew, didn't she?"

"Hmmmph?"

"Molly - she saw something in your face or how you stood -"

"She noticed I didn't have a slide in the microscope, in fact I was just there to bug her for a specimen, but didn't want to scare you off, so I pretended to be working on a case..."

"She let you...Let us figure it out when we were ready?"

"Uhmhmm..."

John let it sink in for a bit, and realised how much he owed Molly Hooper. She had known, but let her best friend grow into being in love, and she had given John the time to let go of all of his baggage, the baggage that could've hurt Sherlock if he hadn't been ready.

Sherlock snored lightly and settled in for a nap; John smiled and kissed his frizzy mass of curls. 

"You winked at me as you were already half-way out the door... 'the address is 221 B Baker Street, the name is Sherlock Holmes...afternoon.' And my life has never been the same since. "

He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised a wedding, so we are skipping ahead to the Best Men's speeches at Molly and Greg's wedding. (Yes, swan serviettes, what else?)
> 
> There will be yet another lonnngggg story detailing Sherlock's recovery and adventures in wedding planning, but it feels right to have Molly and Greg married off here at the end of this story.

Molly held Greg's hand tightly and took a deep breath. She had made it through the entire day without crying once. Her blue lace handkerchief remained unblemished, her waterproof mascara was yet to be tested, but when Sherlock rose two seats away from her, tapped his glass, making the crystal sing and cleared his throat, she knew she didn't stand a chance.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is tradition that the best man toasts the happy couple. Today, you have the good fortune to be attending the ceremony of a couple who required two best men to get them to this day and see it through to its completion. So, you will have to sit through two speeches...yes, go ahead, get it out of your system. Right then, off we go.

Many of you know me by reputation only; you are fortunate. I'm actually a bigger arsehole in reality. Those who have the misfortune to know me know that I owe both Molly and Greg more than I can possibly relate in two hours of nonstop babble, let alone the two and a half minutes I have allowed myself. Besides, I promised the bride that I wouldn't make her cry. 

That being said, Greg Lestrade is only the second person to have known me for over twenty years and still chooses to call me a friend. I could not have chosen a better person for my very best friend to fall in love with. He is kind to a fault and one of the most generous and forgiving people I have ever had the honour of knowing. He loves Molly unreservedly for the amazing, brilliant bad arse that she is, yet shares her appreciation for overly sweet romantic comedies, and the colour yellow, the brighter, the better. I have known and adored Molly Hooper since we were five years old, and I know that today, at last, she has married the one man who knows what love is, and will never let her go or let her down. Please stand and raise your glasses to Greg and Molly."

"To Greg and Molly!" She winked at him and blew him a kiss as Greg wrapped his arms around the detective.

Everyone sat back down as John stood, glass in hand. He turned towards her and began. 

"Most people know I'm arse at this kind of thing, so please excuse me as I stumble through this, Molly." She grinned at him as she was mentally writing a scathing email to the lying bastards who made this so called 'smear-proof, water-proof mascara' that was currently running down her face.

"When I met you and Sherlock that January day, I had no idea that my life was finally about to begin. Molly, you are one of the most compassionate, generous and brilliantly loving people I have ever had the good fortune to know. I am honoured to call you my friend. I remember when Greg showed me the ring, the gorgeous ring, that he was finally going to give you, I had never seen him happier, more at peace, than I did that day. All of us gathered here today are fortunate to have you in our lives, Molly Hooper, and no one is more grateful than I; you have given me more than you will ever know, and I thank you."

Molly stood, not caring about the make up staining her cheeks, and walked over to John. He smiled at her and dabbed at her face, then folded his arms around her, as she sobbed.

The guests quietly stood and raised their glasses. "To Molly and Greg!"

 

After everyone had left, and the catering staff was clattering around them, John was gently rubbing Molly's sore feet, attempting to restore some circulation. "I'm binning these as soon as I get home if not sooner."

"I don't know why women insist on torturing their feet like this," John sighed."It goes against nature..."

"I honestly don't know -ahhhh, yes...right there...fashion? Masochism? Never, ever again."

"Any word yet?"

Molly looked at her phone to see if she had missed any texts. "No. It would have been nice if the criminal classes could have given him one night off. Just one."

Greg had departed after their first dance, as a nervous constable had been sent to retrieve him. "Are you kidding me?" 

"Sorry, sir, it's a triple homicide..."

He pinched his nose, kissed Molly sweetly and rolled his eyes at Sherlock. "Well, are you coming or not?"

Sherlock hesitated, then grinned broadly as John shrugged, "Go! It's been weeks..." He was kissed soundly, then the groom and the bride's best man jumped into the panda, sirens and lights at full blast.

"I hope he wore the jumpsuit this time, it took weeks to make that suit."

John and Molly looked at each other and laughed. "Not a chance."

"Ready to head home yet?" John asked.

"Let's have a bit more cake, seems a shame to let it go to waste, yeah? And, John, uhm, thank you -"

"What for, Molls?"

"For everything. Today was perfect."

"You gave me my everything, Molly, seems only fair."


End file.
